


A Duel of Death & Pleasure

by SkinnyBlackGirl



Series: Leave Her to Her Game [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: A Duel of Death & Pleasure, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Book 4: A Feast for Crows, Dorne, F/M, House Martell, Leave Her to Her Game, Modern Essos, Modern Westeros, Organized Crime, People of Color in ASOIAF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 09:35:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20872052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkinnyBlackGirl/pseuds/SkinnyBlackGirl
Summary: AU - Modern.Between taking down the Volantine Triarchs and an emergency rescue mission for their cousin Arianne in Lys, the Sand Snakes have had an eventful week and Sarella's ready to retreat to solitude in her Oldtown loft.Too bad the uninvited guest in her home has other plans.(Follows the events of "Lights Out in Qohor.")





	A Duel of Death & Pleasure

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [it's only me and you](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18904588) by [xdarksistahx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xdarksistahx/pseuds/xdarksistahx). 

There's nothing more peaceful than riding over the bridge to the Quill and Tankard. In her Citadel days, Sarella spent hours on end at the pub; writing papers at an outdoor table with the soothing babble of the Honeywine behind her, throwing darts and debating politics with her classmates, getting lost in a book and a tall, cool glass of Fearsomely Awesome Cider. When she earned her seventh link—officially beating her father's six—Jolona Qo and Oberyn Martell, the Most Extra Parents in the Known World, handed her a deed to the 600-year-old inn.

She left the pub and courtyard exactly as they were, retaining the building's charm and accessibility for Citadel students needing a break. The inn above the restaurant was completely renovated, with rooms knocked down to turn the space into a large loft with floor-to-ceiling views of the courtyard. In the east-facing building, the sunrises were glorious and at night, the river twinkled under the moonlight.

Following the shootout in Lys, the Sand Snakes are as bloodthirsty as their cousin, but Arianne's new paramour Viserys Targaryen calls dibs on torturing Euron to commemorate their budding relationship [1]. Sarella, however, has her own revenge in mind. Within twenty-four hours of Arianne's return to Dorne, Westerosi news outlets receive fraudulent tax records filed by Aaron Greyjoy's Church of the Drowned God—a massive drug and money laundering operation under the guise of a televangelist mega-church. The Martells toast with champagne to news footage of Police Commissioner Stannis Baratheon walking the disgraced Greyjoy "priest" out of his mini-mansion on Pike. 

But after a week and a half with her family, Sarella is ready to relax in her quiet Oldtown retreat.

She's in her chauffeured truck checking surveillance feeds in the Quill and Tankard on her tablet when she sees a strange man dressed in black, with an all-too-familiar gait approach the bar. Son of a bitch, she thinks. So much for a quiet evening alone.

* * *

She first noticed one of his legs is slightly longer than the other at the Citadel.

Sarella picks up on people's tics. For example, her classmate Pate Hill's knees knock together when he walks. Sometime after her fight with Leo, she sees Pate walking from a distance and notes his right knee bows out. She finds it strange but doesn't want to send the boy into a spiral of self-loathing by asking about it. It doesn't take much, the poor thing. So she keeps her observation to herself.

The more she watches him, however, the more she suspects something is awry. The typically flustered boy is oddly... not flustered anymore. He shrugs off Leo's bullying and whistles through his tedious work for Maester Walgrave instead of complaining per usual. He even holds his drink better—putting down three Fearsomely Strong Ciders without missing a step.

His interactions with Rosie—the Quill and Tankard waitress he once followed like a lost puppy—are the last straw. Where he once blushed furiously in her presence, Pate is at ease and sure of himself. His eyes no longer glaze over in adoration for the girl. His look is warm, friendly, flirtatious. The flirting is the red flag. Pate Hill doesn't know _how_ to flirt.

If Sarella had no exposure to the criminal world, the mystery would drive her crazy. But she's as much a student of the underworld as the Citadel. It doesn't take long to surmise that Pate Hill has been replaced by a Faceless Man. 

* * *

She enters the loft, gun drawn.

The moonlight shines through the windows and reflects off the hardwood floors, mocking her with its serene beauty. She should be stripping and running a hot bath instead of tipping through her home, eyes darting around for anything amiss.

Her intruder strolls out of the shadows and begins a loud, slow round of applause. "A lady may lower her weapon," he says in his smooth Braavosi tone. He steps closer, moonlight revealing his ear-length black hair and just-this-side-of-brown face. His real face. "A man is unarmed."

Sarella grips her gun tighter. "Perhaps I'll shoot you for talking like a pompous prick. Why are you here?"

He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his black jeans—they're all he wears when he's not working. Black jeans, black T-shirts, black sneakers; bound to the House of Black and White's code of humility, despite its profitable relationship with the Iron Bank of Braavos. Oldtown's warm weather means he's in short sleeves, his biceps flexing as he makes fists in his pockets. "To congratulate a colleague on a job well done. Qohor was brash—but brilliant nonetheless."

"You could've sent a text."

"Ah, but a lady appears too busy to reply," he pauses. "Murdering Triarchs. Enrapturing men from Ebonhead to the North...quite the itinerary."

At that, she rolls her eyes and lowers her gun. "I didn't take you for a stalker." As if they aren't hired killers who stalk targets for a living. As if this didn't start when he was assigned to watch her. He's read her mind because he raises an amused brow at the remark.

"A lady lies. The way she whispered a man's name at the height of her pleasure makes a man believe deep down..." he's circling her, eyeing the swaths of brown skin revealed by her loose T-shirt and short shorts. "...you want me here as badly as I want to be here. That's why you put on that little show at the bar in Qohor. So I would see."

The night she's tried not to think about plays in flashes. Running into him at the Braavos Contemporary Art Museum. Fucking on that heated hotel balcony overlooking the canals and massive Titan statue. Forgetting for one night that they work for rival companies and laying together like the playful frenemies they've been since she unmasked him at the Citadel six years ago.

But Sarella can only lose herself for moments at a time. She is the Red Viper's daughter; the blood of the noble Qo of Jhala. A professional. And the man before her—one of the world's most dangerous and arguably the best sex she's ever had—is just a man. A man who works for the competition.

Which is exactly why she fucked the Ebonhead boy and flirted shamelessly with Robb Stark. 

"Jaqen," she sighs. "Braavos was Braavos."

"And yet..." He's over her shoulder. All he has to do is raise his hand and it will land on her hip or thigh. "I'll bet my next job's earnings you're wet for me, Sarella."

He says her name like it's a song...or a sacred prayer to the ancient gods of her mother's country. They laughed about the irony of it that night in Braavos: his order's Red God and the old fertility gods of the Summer Isles. A Duel of Death and Pleasure.

She closes her eyes and beseeches every bit of willpower the Warrior can spare for her. "Goodnight, Jaqen."

He's unmoved, she can tell. His eyes dance with the same mischief they held when she walked in. _This is a game to him._But he obeys her wishes. "A lady lies again," he says. "But I'll leave her to fight herself."

Normally, she'd want the last word, but she doesn't trust her tongue. It will betray her, just like her body will if she doesn't stand completely still until the door clicks shut.

Later that night, when she's sipping Walano White in the steaming hot bath she dreamed of all the way home from Dorne, her phone buzzes with a double-encrypted message: 

_"The next time we're alone, a lady will cum for me."_

She could block him. She should block him.

Sarella downs her wine and eases a hand between her legs instead.

**Author's Note:**

> [1] Contains references to Chapter 18: Unexpected Twists of "it's only me and you" by xdarksistahx.
> 
> Further Sarella/Jaquen pairings will be tagged "A Duel of Death & Pleasure."


End file.
